In recent years, Peteris Vasks has become something
of a cult figure in the world of contemporary music, allied to such
figures as Arvo Pärt, John Tavener and Gorecki, and has had the
dubious honour of joining the band of ‘Holy Minimalists’, who have provided
the jaded modern man with spiritual uplift, when not going about the
business of mammon: however, this is really a rather simplistic verdict
of a composer, who can stand on his own, without being shuffled into
convenient pigeon-holes. Despite not having composed prolifically over
the years, works such as Cantabile for string orchestra have been given
wide coverage. Cantabile has been available intermittently on several
recordings: I do have an old Conifer Classics release with this work,
coupled with the Cor Anglais Concerto, the striking Message of 1982,
the Musica Dolorosa, and the ‘Hymn to the Latvian People’, the stirring
Lauda of 1986, which concerned itself with the fight to overthrow Soviet
domination at that time. Indeed, much of his music is innately nationalistic
in tone, reflecting the work of Jean Sibelius and others in the struggle
for independence from Russian tyranny. (At present, this valuable introduction
to a key Latvian composer is out of the catalogue, and one hopes that
it will resurface at some point in the future: Conifer CDCF 236). In
the meantime, this new release, an overview of his choral music over
the last twenty five years could not be more welcome, and shows to best
effect his surefooted technique in this field.
Vasks was born in the town of Aizpute, Latvia in 1946,
where his father was a minister, and consequently a distinct religious
air dominates much of his output. He studied the double-bass at the
Riga Conservatoire, and went on to the Lithuanian Academy at Vilnius,
where he graduated with honours, then returned to the Latvian capital
to take lessons in composition from Velentius Utkins for the next five
years, funding his studies by playing bass in the Orchestra of the State
Opera. The earliest couple of pieces recorded for this disc date from
this period in the composer’s life, but are more than mere juvenilia,
or study pieces. Perhaps Madrigals, dashed off on one afternoon may
appear the weaker of the two works given from this time, but it is an
accomplished piece, for all of its three minutes length, written out
with aleatoric features, suggesting that an underlying folk music element
is present in so much of the works on this disc. But if this may be
regarded as an early student essay in Vasks’ career, then Mater saule
(Mother Sun), written in the same year, is little short of a miniature
masterpiece: setting a text by Janis Peters, it evokes nature, sunrise
and the beauty of the Latvian countryside, employing what Vasks has
described as ‘white diatonicism’ to striking effect. Once again the
inherent nationalism of the piece is obvious, and as Vasks' music began
to become more widely disseminated, the authorities took a dim view
of such blatant patriotism, and for several years his works were proscribed
by the State.
By the end of the 1980s, the movement for freedom of
the Latvian people was gaining momentum, and this general desire for
autonomy was reflected in the work of the playwrights and composers
of the time. By concerning themselves with the struggle for independence,
these artists risked censure by the Government, and at various times
found themselves rounded up and incarcerated for their beliefs. Vasks
and other composers took to writing scores, at first glance with little
relevance to current issues, often with historical themes, but with
coded messages to those who could read them, supporting the goals of
the rebellion against the Russian oppressors. Such a work was the setting
of the poet Mara Zalite, Zemgale. While this work may have appeared
to concern itself with the destruction of this prosperous Latvian region
in the 13th Century by the invading Germans, to many, the parallelism
of this disastrous event in history, and more recent events after the
Second World War, when many Latvians were driven into exile in Lithuania,
by the advancing Russians, was all too real given the international
situation at the time. Zalite’s poem forces the reader to confront the
likelihood of fresh conflict with the aggressor: do we stand and fight,
or do we capitulate in the face of the enemy, and become a displaced
people once again? Vasks’ importance in the shaping of things to come
cannot be underestimated, and the Zalite setting was part of the unfolding
developments, as the mighty Soviet Union was laid low, and Latvian independence
was secured.
As much can really be said, too, of the Litene of 1993,
a Ballad for 12 voices, a setting of Uldis Berzins in two parts, recounting
the events of 1941, when Russian forces rounded up Latvian officers
in the idyllic woodland of Litene, shot most of them or carted the rest
off to Siberia. This is really a call to arms, or a warning never to
let this happen again, and produces some of Vasks’ most strident and
angry music.
To conclude, we have some of Vasks most recent choral
music, with the Three Poems by Czeslaw Milosz of 1994, and a Latin setting
of the Dona nobis pacem for voices and organ of 1996. Milosz was born
in Lithuania in 1911, and became a socialist, and a member of the resistance
to occupying German forces during World War II, composing, translating
and editing several clandestine works, including ‘Invincible Song’ of
1942. After the end of the war, he was feted by the new communist government
in Poland, and became a diplomat, but quickly became disillusioned with
the regime in Warsaw, and defected, first to Paris, and then to the
USA, where he joined the faculty of the University of California at
Berkeley: little wonder, then, that Vasks was attracted to set some
of his poetry to music, given that here was an intellectual who was
forced to flee from the German army, and then from Poland, to seek exile
in the West. It always comes back to the age old conundrum of whether
to capitulate, to flee, or to resist. The Milosz Songs were originally
set in Polish, and Vasks considered having them translated into Latvian,
so it was surprising that the final setting was actually in English,
but as the first performance was given by the excellent Hilliard Ensemble
in London in 1995, it made sense that the individual voices of that
band were used to idiomatic effect in their own language, and it is
in this format that the Latvian Radio Choir perform it on this recording.
It is all nostalgia and wistfulness, and very engaging. The last piece
of Vasks on this recording is the Dona nobis pacem, especially commissioned
by the performers: the original version was for choir and string orchestra,
but we hear the reduction with organ, a profound hope for the future
of mankind, the first work that Vasks had considered setting in the
origin Latin: ‘grant us thy peace, O Lord’.
The forces of the Latvian Radio Choir acquit themselves
admirably in this recording, ably conducted by Sigvards Kjava and Kaspars
Putnins: perhaps their intonation in the Milosz piece was not as precise
nor as idiomatic as on the original English performance, but as this
was the setting of a Lithuanian by a Latvian, we may forgive the occasional
infelicity. All in all, this is a very useful survey of an original
talent.
Ben Killeen
Latvian Radio Choir